The Salt Smugglers (5 page)

Upon returning to his house, the fisherman sighed at the loss of his companion. — But the seal had beaten him back home and lay there waiting for him, drying out in front of the hearth. — The family put up with their hunger for another few days, but unable to stand his children's cries of distress, the fisherman grew stronger in his resolve.

This time he sailed far further out to sea and tossed the seal into the waves, far from the shore.

With his fins, shaped almost like hands, the seal repeatedly tried to grasp hold of the gunwales of the boat. Exasperated, the fisherman lifted up one of his oars and slammed it down, smashing one of the fins. The seal let out a plaintive cry that was almost human and disappeared into the waves, stained red with his blood.

The fisherman returned home heart-broken. — This time there was no seal to greet him at the hearth.

But that same night, the fisherman heard cries in the street. He thought that someone was being murdered and rushed out to help.

There was the seal on his doorstep. It had dragged itself to his house and was whimpering piteously, — holding the bloodied stump of its fin skyward.

They took the seal in, dressed its wound, and never again did they think of exiling it from the family hearth; — for from that moment on, the catch had gotten much better.

There is no way that this legend could seem dangerous to you. — It contains not a single mention of the word love.

Yet I feel quite ambivalent about disclosing what it was I overheard at the seal exhibit at the Versailles fair. I'll leave it up to you to evaluate the dangers that a narrative of this sort might represent.

I was, for openers, rather surprised not to discover the seal whom I had seen the previous year. The one currently on display is of another color altogether and far plumper.

There were two soldiers there from camp Sabory, — a sergeant and a fusilier, both of whom were admiring the seal in the idiom of their regiment, in this case a blend of Alsatian and military slang.

Expertly following the baton movements of his trainer, the seal had already executed a number of tricks in the water. The sergeant had cast into the pool one of those disdainful glances that are proof that a man has seen many educated seals in his time:

THE SERGEANT: I bet you couldn't leap around like that in the
waterrrs
of the sea.

THE FUSILIER: Well that would probably depend. I reckon I could if the water wasn't too cold and I was wearing a fur jacket like this seal.

THE SERGEANT: What do you mean by a
furrr
jacket?

THE FUSILIER: Go ahead sir and just touch it.

(The sergeant prepares to feel the seal.)

THE TRAINER: No you don't! This seal is ferocious when he's not fed ...

THE SERGEANT, disdainfully: I've seen seals in
Algierrrs
that were three or four times longer; true, they didn't
have
furrr
, but they did have scales ... In fact I don't think this kind of seal exists in
Afrrikerr!

THE TRAINER: My apologies, Sarge; this here seal was caught in Cape Verde.

THE SERGEANT: Oh, so he was captured in Cape
Verrrde
, was he? ... well, that changes everything ... I guess the men who pulled this fish out of the
waterrr
. . . must have had a tough time of it! ...

THE TRAINER: As a matter of fact, Sarge, it was me and my brother ... And yes, he was not pleasant to the touch.

THE SERGEANT, to the fusilier: You see what I told you.
¹

THE FUSILIER, nonplussed by his line of argument, yet nonetheless resigned: You're right, Sarge, all the way.

His vanity flattered, the sergeant offered a few coins to see the seal having lunch, for his midday meal depended on the liberality of the visitors.

Soon, the other spectators also having chipped in, a suitable number of herrings had been collected so that the seal was now ready to show off his tricks in the green-painted pool.

« He's approaching the edge of the pool, said the trainer. He's sniffing out the herrings to see if they are fresh ... If they are not, he'll refuse to put on a good show. »

The seal seemed to be satisfied and proceeded to say
Pappa
and
Mamma
with a Northern accent whose intonations nonetheless did not interfere with intelligibility of the syllables.

« He's talking Dutch, said the sergeant. I thought you said he had been caught in Cape
Verrrde!

— True enough. But even when they swim south they don't lose their accent ... These are trips they take during the summer, for health reasons, then they return back north, — unless, that is, they are caught, as was the case with this one, so they can get to visit Versailles. »

After the lessons in phonetics, each of which was rewarded by the ingurgitation of a herring, it was time for a display of gymnastics; — the seal stood up on his tail, whose symmetrical flanges almost resemble human feet; then executed a number of flips and pivots through the water, guided by his trainer's baton and by the promise of further herrings.

I admired how much the spirit of the North was at work in these creatures, hybrid though they were. They will only bow to authority if provided with certain guarantees.

Once the exhibition was over, the trainer showed us the wall where he had stretched out the sealskin which had been on display in Paris last year. The fusilier at this point enjoyed his moment of triumph over his sergeant, whose vision had perhaps been somewhat clouded by the Sabory champagne.

What the fusilier had called the seal's jacket was in fact a thick skin covered with speckled fur, the hairs of which were about as long as those of a young calf. The sergeant at this point had given up all claims to superior authority.

As I was leaving the exhibit, I heard the following dialogue between its owner and a lady from Versailles:

« So do these creatures eat a lot of herrings?

— Don't even mention it, Madame, this seal costs
us a good twenty-five francs a day (as much as a representative to the National Assembly). Each herring costs three sous, you know.

— How true, the lady said with a sigh, fish is so expensive these days in Versailles! »

I inquired about the cause of the death of the preceding seal.

« I married off my daughter, said the owner. This was the cause. The seal grew very depressed, and died of a broken heart. And yet we had wrapped him up in blankets and taken care of him just like a human ... but he was too attached to my daughter. So I said to my son: “Go find another one ... but this time make sure it's not a male, — females are far more independent.” This new cow can be headstrong, — but give seals plenty of fresh herring and they'll do whatever you want them to! »

How instructive it is to observe the behavior of animals! And how closely all this is related to the various hypotheses put forth by thousands of books during the last century! — While browsing among the stalls of the booksellers at Versailles, I came across a duodecimo volume entitled
The Difference between Man and Beast
. This book claims that during the winter the Greenlanders used to bury seals under the snow « so that they could subsequently unearth them and eat their frozen flesh raw. »

It occurs to me that seal here shows himself to be superior to man: he prefers his fish fresh.

On page 93 I find this delicate observation: « In love we know each other only because we love each other; in friendship we love each other only because we know each other. »

And then this one: « Two lovers hide their faults from each other and betray each other; two friends, by contrast, admit their faults to each other and forgive each other. »

I put this book back on the shelf: it was written by a moralist who loves animals, — but who does not love love!

Yet we have just seen that seals are fully capable of love
and
friendship!

What would happen if this serial
feuilleton
were to be seized by the police because it had mentioned the love of a seal for its mistress. Thank God, I have merely grazed the surface of this subject.

But the case involving the newspaper that was indicted for having spoken of love during a journey among the Eskimos remains quite serious, — at least if one believes the reply of the assistant prosecutor who was asked what it was that distinguished newspaper articles devoted to criticism, travel, or historical matters from
serial novels
, and who was reported to have replied:

« Serial novels have to do with the depiction of love. The word for novel,
roman
, derives from the word
romance
. Draw your own conclusion. »

This conclusion strikes me as false. If it were generally accepted then everybody would be citing the following lines from the
Renewed Reveries of the Greeks:

I'm ashamed to waste my readers' time with all this twaddle. After having finished writing this letter, I will request an audience with the Attorney General of the Republic. Justice is severe in our land, — often as harsh as Roman law (
dura lex sed lex
), but at least it is French justice, that is, more capable than any other of understanding matters of the mind ...

Please admire, if you will, my steadfastness of purpose; — I have just made my way to the Palace of Justice.

One often fears, — in cases like this, — that should one enter the offices of the Attorney General one will only exit from them having been guillotined. — But truth be told, I was greeted by nothing but charming manners and smiling faces.

I was completely wrong when I reported the reply of the assistant prosecutor to the question concerning serial novels. He was no doubt an assistant prosecutor on vacation from the provinces and was merely offering his private opinion of the matter in some drawing room, — where he obviously would never have been able to convince any of the ladies present.

Luckily I was able to address myself to the official prosecutor who had been assigned to cases specifically involving newspapers and he informed me that « the pursuit of crimes committed by serial novels was of no concern to the office of the Attorney General. »

This office only moves into action once it has been informed of violations by the The Stamp Office, — which has special agents whose job it is to decide whether a newspaper serial should be categorized as a
novel
and hence be assessed the fine of a stamp tax.

Up to the present the only case that has come to the attention of the Attorney General's office is that of Alexandre Dumas'
God Disposes
, which was a novel published by
L'Événement
— though to be sure, only as a supplement. — This does not constitute a serious case.

The same holds true of the seizure of the periodical called
City and Country
which had featured a serial novel by M. Marie Aycard. The newspaper
Le Droit
was similarly warned when it published a series by the same author: its issues were seized in the mail but were allowed to pass once the stamp tax levied on them had been paid in full.

These are cases that shall wend their way through administrative channels.

So we can breathe easier for the moment, — without however forgetting that we shall probably have to go drop in on the Stamp Office, which is a division of the Department of Registration and State Property.

ANOTHER OBLIGATORY DIGRESSION LITERARY CONGENIALITY REPLY TO THE «CORSAIRE» CENSORSHIP. — THE THEATER HARLEQUIN MASKS

I am obliged to ramble on about myself without getting to the abbé de Bucquoy. Small consolation indeed. But our audience will have to admit that given the impossibility of our writing a
novel
, we shall have to become the hero of those adventures that befall us every day, as they do every man, — and whose interest is admittedly often quite limited.

So we are embarked on a rather slipperypath, — do not hesitate to offer us guidance or advance warnings ...

In addition, one can make certain observations about personal matters that have broader implications for a number of concerns that might be more or less shared by the public at large, — observations that might possibly even be of some use.

Polemics are key to the power and public service of the press. A newspaper for which I used to write when it was still under the editorship of M. Lepage, — to wit,
Le Corsaire
, — has now accused me of changing my political colors. I know that newspapers often seem to change their politics according to the winds of their ownership or editorship. — But to accuse a writer of doing so is a far graver matter.